


Graceless

by mirawonderfulstar



Series: ready to suffer and ready to hope [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Comfort Sex, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Empathy, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Genderfluid Character, Heaven, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Pet Names, Protectiveness, Psychic Bond, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Trans Male Character, Trans character written by trans author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 08:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18311750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: “You’ll fall for this.” Gabriel said with something like amazement in his voice.“No,” Aziraphale corrected him. “I’ll jump.”Immediately follows "Faithless" in plot and tone but I don't think you necessarily need to have read that to grasp what's going on in this fic.





	Graceless

**Author's Note:**

> _and i am done with my graceless heart,  
>  so tonight i’m gonna cut it out and then restart..._  
> —“shake it out”, florence + the machine

Crowley was woken by the sound a bell jingling downstairs. Normally he’d sleep right through such a thing but Aziraphale was still curled up against him, tired and worn and needing him, and Crowley hadn’t slept so much as dozed through the night in favor of keeping one eye and ear out for any disturbances, wanting to keep the angel safe while he recovered. He brushed a stray curl back from Aziraphale’s forehead as he got out of the bed, looking down at him with an ache in his chest that was both a desperate fondness and a protectiveness he hadn't realized he was capable of until he’d pulled him out of Heaven some hours ago. Crowley made his way out into the hall and down the stairs, intending to kick whoever had come into the shop right back out again and then return upstairs to Aziraphale. 

That is, until he saw who it was.

”You.” Crowley snarled, looking Gabriel up and down. The archangel met his fury with casual disinterest, and tutted when Crowley grabbed a tall, thin statuette from the counter by the till. 

“Now, now, don’t do anything rash.” Gabriel said in a mild tone, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just here to check up on the principality.” 

"Are you.” Crowley spat. “Aziraphale told me what your lot did to him yesterday. If you so much as lay a finger on—“ 

Gabriel sighed and stepped closer, taking the statuette from Crowley and setting it back where it had come from. Crowley glared up at him, several inches taller and a good deal wider in the shoulder than he was. He stood his ground, longing for an excuse to punch the bastard in the jaw. 

“Not that it matters to me what a demon thinks but I am not here to hurt Aziraphale.” Gabriel said. “He left in a hurry yesterday and we have to go over some paperwork.” 

Crowley laughed harshly and straightened himself to his fullest height. “I don’t give a  _fuck_ ,” he snarled, teeth growing and eyes flashing, “about your paperwork. Get out of here. Now.” 

Gabriel looked amused. He opened his mouth to respond but a sudden cry from upstairs cut him off. Crowley bolted from the room without a backwards glance, tripping over himself in his haste up the stairs, finding Aziraphale sitting up in bed and looking very, very lost. When he saw Crowley standing in the doorway he relaxed, leaning forward with his elbows against his knees, rubbing his eyes with shaky fingers. 

“I thought someone had taken you.” Aziraphale muttered. He sounded heartily embarrassed so Crowley shrugged and did his best to look nonchalant.

“No, there’s someone in the shop. Let me just scare them off and I’ll be right back. I’ll bring you tea.” He offered as an afterthought. Aziraphale gave him a grateful look that was not quite a smile, and Crowley would have returned it if he hadn’t seen a figure coming up the stairs out of the corner of his eye. 

Gabriel elbowed his way into the door frame and Crowley heard Aziraphale draw in a sharp breath. Before he could grab the archangel by the lapels of his annoyingly crisp suit and throw him bodily from the room, he'd crossed his arms and fixed Aziraphale with a condescending look. 

"Aziraphale. Care to join me downstairs and go over some things from the test you underwent yesterday?" His tone was one of supreme disdain and he was looking around the room with quiet disgust. "Or would you rather stay up here and keep playing human with this..." he waved a hand in Crowley's direction. Crowley opened his mouth angrily but Aziraphale got there first. 

"The things I do with Crowley and how I choose to do them are absolutely none of your business." He said, cold as ice. "Generally this room is private. I will be with you downstairs shortly." 

Gabriel chuckled. "I—"

"That was meant as an instruction to get out." Aziraphale spoke over him. Gabriel blinked for a moment, evidently surprised, then shrugged and left the room. Crowley listened to the sound of his footfalls going down the stairs with deep loathing, then turned a worried expression on Aziraphale. 

"Oh, don't look like that.” Aziraphale said, rising from the bed and dressing quickly from the old wardrobe in the corner of the room. “I’m sure whatever happens next, well. It’s all rather inevitable from here, isn’t it?”

Crowley’s words came out pinched and apprehensive. “What,” he said, and cleared his throat, “do you mean by that?”

Aziraphale gave him the sort of smile that was meant to be reassuring, but which Crowley had stopped being reassured by shortly after Christ’s death. It was Aziraphale’s ‘chin up, face the music’ smile, and while part of Crowley was relieved that he was feeling well enough to put away his hurt again like that, another part of him felt even more out of his depth than he had done when the angel had been crying in his arms earlier in the morning.

“I only mean that you needn’t worry about it, my dear.” Aziraphale said softly, moving to kiss Crowley as he finished buttoning his shirt. “Stay up here until Gabriel’s gone, again, please.”

“Keeping me a secret in your bedroom, angel?” Crowley tried for levity, and Aziraphale let out a breathy laugh.

“Something like that.” He said lightly, and then he was gone, down the stairs for whatever that prick wanted him for.

Crowley picked apprehensively through the books on the shelf over Azirapjhale’s desk, forcing himself not to try and listen in on the conversation happening just outside the limits of his hearing downstairs.

 

Aziraphale found Gabriel leaning his hip against the counter in the main room of the bookshop and flipping through a first edition collection of Hans Christian Anderson. When Aziraphale snapped the book shut and set it aside the archangel rolled his eyes.

“Please can we get to the point of this visit so we can _end_ this visit?” Aziraphale said, and Gabriel shrugged. He pulled a thick stack of paperwork from the improbably small pocket inside his suit coat and handed it over.

“Heaven needs you to fill out this self-evaluation for our records.”

Aziraphale blinked in surprise and dismay. “Was the test not a self-evaluation?”

“Yes, but we need written verification.” Gabriel said as he reached around Aziraphale to grab a pen from the cup by the till. He held it out and Aziraphale stared at it.

“I don’t see why you can’t just use whatever data you collected from the test itself.” Aziraphale muttered, not taking the pen. He flipped through the questionnaire. It was, horribly, exactly the sorts of things that had always eaten away at Aziraphale’s self-confidence when it came to Heaven; all those petty little ‘what do you Believe’ sorts of questions. Traps and doublethink and _guilt_.

Gabriel smiled. “Well, we want to know you’ve learned your lesson.” Gabriel said, and Aziraphale stopped. He looked up.

“What lesson would that be?”

“That you belong to Heaven, of course.” Gabriel said smoothly, easily, like it didn’t mean anything at all. And it probably didn’t, to him. To angels like Gabriel, they were all just tools, just… pawns, of a sort. And it was suddenly dawning on Aziraphale that maybe he’d had enough of that.

Aziraphale slid the thick packet across the desk towards Gabriel. “I don’t think so.”

For the first time, something glinted, alert and dangerous, behind Gabriel’s carefree attitude. “You what?”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing this self-evaluation. In fact, I don’t think I’ll be reporting anything back to Heaven ever again.” He swallowed. “I don’t think I want you or anyone else to have a say in what I’m allowed to think, or feel, or want. Not anymore.”

Gabriel stared down his nose at Aziraphale, cold as steel. “What do you think you’re doing, Principality.”

“I’m quitting.”

“You can’t quit.” Gabriel snapped. “This isn’t how this works. Nobody quits.”

“Defecting, then.” Aziraphale snapped, squaring his shoulders and raising himself to his full height.

“We haven’t had a defection in—”

“Six thousand years?” Aziraphale finished for him. “I know.” He stood his ground as Gabriel leaned forward, narrowing his eyes, surveying his face as though looking for some kind of levity. He found none. Aziraphale had never been more deadly serious about anything.

“You’ll fall for this.” Gabriel said with something like amazement in his voice.

“No,” Aziraphale corrected him. “I’ll jump.”

Gabriel stood frozen for a moment, then he laughed. He picked up the stack of paper and pocketed it again, still laughing. “I don’t know what your demon lover up there has told you about Hell but I can guarantee you that you won’t find what you’re looking for there.”

“Maybe not.” Aziraphale agreed, feeling his hands clench into fists. “But it’s been six thousand years. About time I stopped expecting to find it in Heaven.”

Gabriel’s face softened suddenly. “Aziraphale.” He said, almost consolingly. “You can’t be so foolish as to think he’ll stay with you. He may think he loves you, and you him, but you’re not the same. You don’t belong with—”

The door of the bookshop flew open with such force the bell above fell to the floor with a sad brass clang. “Get out.” Aziraphale growled, and his fury was a good deal more effective at ushering Gabriel through the door than Crowley’s had been. The archangel turned on his heel and hurried away, and Aziraphale relaxed, letting himself settle back into his corporation, feeling the ache of the last few days and the next several hours as he rolled his shoulders. Tea. He needed tea.

 

Crowley heard the bell of the door and looked out the upstairs window framed with yellowing and moth-eaten lace curtains to see Gabriel retreating up the street, and he grimaced and hurried downstairs to see that Aziraphale was alright. He found him in the kitchen, preparing tea with slightly shaky hands.

“Good to see that bastard has left.” Crowley said with false joviality. “You alright?”

Aziraphale nodded but didn’t speak. He loaded the tea things onto a tray and took it to the coffee table before the sofa. When he sat down he gestured for Crowley to join him.

“So?” Crowley prompted, and Aziraphale merely shrugged. He looked… relieved, maybe. No, not quite. He looked like he’d been waiting for something bad to happen, and now it had, and the anticipation being over brought him comfort. Crowley put his hand over Aziraphale’s when he set his tea down.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale said, and then suddenly he had his arms full of angel, Aziraphale kissing him like he was the only thing in the world.

“ _Angel!”_ Crowley laughed, putting his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders and holding him at arm’s length so he could look at him. “…Angel?”

Aziraphale was trembling, his eyes curiously bright, his lips parted and his breath coming in short gasps. “Not for much longer, I'm afraid.” He said, and winced his eyes shut as a tremor ran through him.

Cold horror ran through Crowley. “Aziraphale, _no_.”

“Don’t worry, I’m—”

“You’re not fine! After what they put you through yesterday, they still have the gall to go and—”

“No.” Aziraphale snapped. “No, this was me. I did this.”

“You can’t blame yourself for Heaven’s complete lack of—”

“ _No_.” Aziraphale repeated, firmer. “Gabriel came to get me to fill out a self-evaluation and I told him no. I told him I’d rather—”

“You’re falling to _get in the last word with your boss_?” Crowley all but yelled.

“No, Crowley. I’m falling because… because it’s the only thing I could do that would be on my terms.” Aziraphale finished, and gasped, placing a hand to his chest and bending over in pain. Crowley wanted to scream.

“You’re an idiot, angel, a complete fool, a…a…” Crowley swore. Aziraphale let out a quiet sound that could have been a laugh or could have been a sob, Crowley wasn’t sure. “Let me take you upstairs.”

“I don’t know if I’m really in a state for—”

“Oh, trust me, you’ll be much happier lying down in about half an hour.” Crowley said grimly. “I can’t believe you would…” He shook his head and stood up, pulling a shaky Aziraphale with him. “Let’s go.”

Five minutes later they were in Aziraphale’s bed, Aziraphale on his back, Crowley holding his hand tightly enough to break bone.

“You remember falling, then?” Aziraphale asked haltingly, grimacing in pain and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Oh, yeah.” Crowley nodded. He winced as he watched Aziraphale’s back arch and muscles strain in his neck with the effort of not screaming.

“I can understand,” Aziraphale panted, “if you don’t want to relive it.”

“I’d fall a thousand times before I let you do this alone.” Crowley said. He felt Aziraphale squeeze his hand back in response.

 

The next hours were some of the worst Crowley had ever lived through, including the time he’d driven a flaming heap of metal that used to be his car across Oxfordshire. Aziraphale writhed, screamed, burning and flailing and choking, and there was nothing whatsoever Crowley could do except bear witness. Except reassure him he was still there, that it was almost over. When it finally ended Aziraphale lay there, tears leaking out of his eyes, following the tracks of hours of others down the lines of his face. His eyes had taken on a faint glow, shining silver-grey from within, but apart from that he appeared completely unchanged.

“It’s over, Aziraphale.” Crowley whispered, and those luminous eyes refocused on him, blinking.

“I don’t feel different.”

“Well, no.” Crowley gave him a small, sad smile. “Demons aren’t that different from angels, not really. Been trying to tell you for years.”

“Yes, but I didn’t realize…” Aziraphale trailed off, biting his lower lip. “I suppose I thought I’d…”

“You’d what?”

“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to feel you anymore.” Aziraphale admitted, and Crowley raised their clasped hands to his lips and kissed Aziraphale’s knuckles. When he turned his hand over and kissed his palm, warm and open-mouthed, Aziraphale gasped, his cheeks flushing and his lips parting. Crowley couldn’t help thinking he’d never looked lovelier. 

“I can make you feel me right now, if that’s what you need.” He sucked one of Aziraphale’s fingers into his mouth and watched the angel’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, the clench of his other hand on the bedsheets.

“Yes.” Aziraphale said at once, and Crowley hummed his understanding. 

“How do you want me?” Crowley said before flicking his forked tongue down over Aziraphale’s wrist, tasting the thrum of his pulse, the same as it had ever been. Hot blood rushing under skin, and Aziraphale’s aura along with it, warm and welcoming and unchanged and _home_. “Tell me what you need.” 

Aziraphale shuddered, twitched, and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m afraid I’m too wrung out to be of much use to you.” He murmured, bringing his other hand up to stroke Crowley’s cheek. 

Crowley shook his head. “You don’t have to to be, angel, gosh. Just let me take care of you.” He rearranged himself so he could kiss Aziraphale’s neck, delighting at the whimper that fell from his lips when Crowley’s mouth landed below his ear. “Let me make you feel _good_.” 

“Crowley, I—“ Whatever Aziraphale had been going to say dissolved in a moan as Crowley unbuttoned the top of his shirt and sucked a mark against his collarbone. 

“Do you want me to fuck you, angel?” Crowley said, low in his throat, and Aziraphale’s hand came up to fist in his hair as he slowly undid another button. “Or suck your cock? I could eat you out, if you’d like, I know a clit and labia isn’t your preferred arrangement per se, but I’ll make it sssssso good for you if you want to try.” 

“Just stop talking.” Aziraphale demanded, and Crowley grinned at the whine in his tone, the way he was arching into Crowley’s touch as he kissed his way down Aziraphale’s chest. He let out a little yelp when Crowley took a nipple between his sharp teeth. The tug of Aziraphale’s hands in his hair made him pause, pull away from soft skin and look up. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley saw he had tears in his eyes again. 

“Oh, angel.” He murmured. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so— you need to tell me, if you don’t want me to— you’ve been roughed up enough the last twenty four hours, I didn’t think.” 

“It’s not that, dear boy.” Aziraphale said, and Crowley narrowed his eyes dubiously. “It’s not.” Aziraphale insisted. He ran a hand across his face, brushing away fresh tears. “It’s. Well. I don’t suppose you really ought to call me angel, anymore.” 

The same powerful, protective, possessive _something_ that had taken up residence in Crowley since he’d found Aziraphale lying on the floor of a white room in Heaven threatened to overflow at last. “Aziraphale.” He all but growled, and watched the way Aziraphale’s pupils dilated with some satisfaction. “Do you think I call you ‘angel’ out of convenience?” 

Aziraphale blinked. “I—“ 

“Some sort of joke, maybe?” 

“Crowley—“ 

“You could be a demon, you could be bloody human, for all I care, and you’d still be an angel to me. Beautiful. Perfect.” 

“Oh.” Was all Aziraphale said, worrying at his lip. And then, “Crowley?” 

“Yes, angel?” 

“Make me come.” 

The words sent a spike of heat through Crowley and he kissed Aziraphale, hard, until they were both gasping, before he continued his exploration down the soft lines of Aziraphale’s chest and stomach. He nuzzled his nose against the downy hairs on Aziraphale’s belly, settled his hands against padded hips. “Spread your legs.” 

Aziraphale complied, and Crowley was pleasantly surprised to find he’d taken his earlier suggestion and manifested a cunt. Crowley licked an experimental stripe along the inside of his thigh and heard Aziraphale moan. 

“Look at you.” Crowley murmured, nipping at sensitive skin with his teeth, not hard enough to draw blood, just enough to feel it. Aziraphale gasped in response, which Crowley took as a good sign. “Open and wet and perfect for me.” 

Aziraphale’s sigh was cut off abruptly by another yelp as Crowley slid his tongue inside him, preternaturally long, tasting him. 

Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s hands clench and unclench in his hair as he ate him out, wanting to hold him in place, to direct him, and he smiled against Aziraphale’s cunt at the thought of the look on his face right now. He’d be flushed down his neck, his head thrown back, mouth open wordlessly, eyes blown wide with pleasure. He moved to mouth at the angel's clit and had to stop his own hands from clawing into his hips as his orgasm hit them both.

Crowley knew what Aziraphale looked like when he came but he’d never felt it in quite this way before. It wasn’t just their positions, their configuration. There was something in Aziraphale’s aura that was different, something... 

“My dear boy.” Aziraphale said at last, his words breathless through the heave of his chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever... can you _feel_ that?” 

Crowley could.

It was like Aziraphale was _there_. Like the waves of desire coming off him that Crowley had taken as a matter of course when they'd been together before had always been very slightly out of tune, and he was truly feeling them for the first time, echoing in him like the vibration in your chest when you stand too close to a large speaker, loud and a little bit destructive. And Crowley was _coming_ , hard, effort made before he could even think about it, as though the feeling that was Aziraphale had seeped into him and found the quickest path of escape again.

“I suppose your aura’s changed a little after all, then.” Crowley said through the aftershocks of his own, completely unexpected orgasm. “For a moment there it as like...” 

“We were the same being.” Aziraphale finished for him, and Crowley lifted his chin from where it was resting on Aziraphale’s belly and saw him smile beatifically at him. “Oh, my dear, how I love you.” 

“I know, angel.” Crowley took his hand and squeezed. Then he blinked, feeling the thing that was _them_ ebb and recede a little bit, felt Aziraphale's essence settle comfortably back where it belonged. "That was... something, wasn't it?" 

Aziraphale chuckled and gestured for Crowley to move up the bed so they could cuddle. He moved over in the bed, which had become quite a bit bigger since when Crowley had first seen it, and Crowley pulled him into his arms and kissed him.

"It was." Aziraphale agreed, his voice heavy with sleep. The feeling of protectiveness flared in Crowley again as Aziraphale settled against his chest. "Turn the light off, please, Crowley." 

"The lights aren't on." 

Aziraphale's eyes shot open for a split second, and then he squinted around. He sighed. "It would seem, then, that both sensing desire and seeing in the dark are inherent to demons and aren't part of your unique skillset." 

Crowley laughed and kissed Aziraphale's forehead. "Just wait. It's rather useful, actually." 

"Hmm." Aziraphale was smiling against his neck. "We'll have to go out and put it to use. Tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow." Crowley agreed, running his fingers through Aziraphale's hair. The angel— _his_ angel—was already asleep.


End file.
